


The Sacrifice

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Bondage, Bottom Dean, Cock Cages, Hentai Anatomy, Hurt Dean Winchester, Masturbation, Nipple Clamps, Object Insertion, Objectification, Predicament Bondage, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sadism, Size Kink, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-14 01:14:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11772402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: AUCastiel's arranged marriage needs one final religious ceremony. He and his betrothed need to make a terrible sacrifice to atone for their experiences of lust before matrimony. Even though it must be done, he is taken aback by his feelings for the beautiful green-eyed boy chosen as sacrifice.(This is just twisted porn.)





	1. Chapter 1

Castiel's gloved hands clench and unclench beneath the waves of starched ruffles. He feels nauseous and energy depleted at once, as he walks down the unfamiliar hallway.  
"Smile, Son," the bearded man behind him says.  
Castiel gives a queasy smile out of the window, raising his hand to wave. The crowd is small, and mostly the simple, muted fashion of the working class. He looks up at the King as he overtakes him, opening his mouth to ask if they have to do this, and then the doors to the left are pulled inwards. Castiel steps forward, trying to hide behind his father best he can. Luckily, it's dark inside. His father touches his collar as they descend a set of stone steps.  
"Son, you need to remember, this is the only way to make sure that the gods approve."  
Castiel nods, though he doesn't look up.  
"And there she is."  
Now he does look up. His bride. The Princess Lilith of Hadeon. Her blonde hair is all pinned back under a soft red velvet veil, her face clean and without makeup. The dress she wears is red too, mostly shapeless except for the ribbon pulling her waist in a little. It's not quite the traditional ceremonial wear, but close enough. She gives a coquettish smile over. Castiel flushes, gives a smile back, and looks down at his own large red coat. It's stuffy, and looks stupid compared to her modernized wear. He looks over. Her father and mother are both here, the king and queen of Hadeon. He is blond, and haughty looking, light blue eyes reflecting the red of the torches. The queen is smiling, red curls hidden too underneath a veil of her own. He dined with them all just last night, but here they all seem very different, and so much more ominous. He's heard about the ceremony a dozen times or more, but he can't remember for the life of him where he is supposed to stand while they wait. And then another door opens. His father sets off, and he follows along hurriedly, probably making a fool of himself in front of Lilith.  
  
  
The room they enter is more brightly lit, candles flickering in the indents of walls, and overhead in a chandelier. Ahead, is the huge white marble statue. He doesn't look at it much, keeps his eyes on his father's feet to anticipate direction. Then his father peels away, sitting at a severe wooden bench. He stops for a moment before he sees the nod towards a pair of separated wooden chairs tight beneath the statue. He will be right, and her left. It's a relief for some of his knowledge of the ceremony to be useful. He seats himself, and finally looks up at the statue. It's at least twice as tall as him, a seated male figure with the head of a wolf. The God Padra. He brings animalistic lust, and also punishes it. Cas barely takes in the fine artisanship, the incredibly detailed snarl, because his eyes are drawn to one feature. The huge cock, rising from the God's marble lap. It glows brighter and more polished than the rest of the body. More use, Castiel thinks, and blushes at the idea of something so monstrously large fitting into a human body. It must be longer than his forearm. Far thicker. And unrelenting stone, every inch. He looks over, and Lilith is settling into her seat, smiling mischievously over at him and raising an eyebrow. His flush gets worse until he feels as red as his scratchy woolen collar.  
  
  
The priest walks from a small door in an alcove behind the statue, in his traditional red, everything covered in fabric except small sown eye holes. They're too small for light to catch, so they look completely black. The voice comes out in an efficient, lifeless drone.  
"May Padra bless this union and preserve its purity. May he absolve our promised souls of all transgressions before marriage, all impure thoughts, all animalistic and unbecoming desires. May our offered soul be worthy of him."  
Castiel's mouth grows dry as two more priests enter, hauling the naked sacrifice with them. For some reason, he expected the offering to be a woman, though he knows that the genders are supposed to be random. It usually is a girl, from what he's heard. The boy is wearing reddish leather restraints, hands bound in his back, feet bound close together forcing him to shuffle forward. He's startling attractive, with his freckles and his sharp cheekbones, but he's also obviously been pretty badly flogged. Probably not very cooperative. There's a leather gag in between his bared teeth, and his green eyes are bloodshot and angry. Castiel reminds himself that his parents were certainly paid well, and that the priests that selected him did so based on indisputable omens from the Gods. Not only that, but this boy defied Padra's laws in some way to have brought this upon himself. Sleeping with a married woman, or perhaps sodomy. A criminal who is earning his freedom through an act for the good of the kingdoms. A sacrifice so that this wedding could go ahead. For the good of the kingdoms now united. Cas glances over at the princess. Her smile is bordering on cruel. He feels sick and looks away for a moment as the priests bend him over a table, strapping his limbs down. It's not sexual, he reminds himself. It's an ancient ceremony. It's so close to him and his betrothed, though. He can smell the sweat, see the warmth of damp skin fogging up the black marble. The ankle restraints are unlocked, then the boy's legs are being pulled apart. For the first time, Castiel notices there's something inside him.  
  
  
The tallest priest parts the muscular round of his cheeks, and takes hold of a small, carved grip. Then he tugs. The boy cries out at once, squirming and whining against the table, but the priest is relentless. The pink, stretched skin is pulled outward, distended from within. There's a slightly wet pop as the huge metal object is taken out. This one is not shaped into a phallus, more geometric, curved on both ends, with some sort of pattern running up it's length. One priest picks up a bottle and drizzles the fragrant oil on the length of the device. Castiel can taste it on the tip of his tongue. Almond? Something woody and sweet. It makes him feel even closer, and he feels the sharp strain of an erection in his restrictive undergarments. He peeks down as quickly as he can, hoping it doesn't show against the ruffles. No. He silently thanks the gods for the huge ceremonial costumes. He glances over at Lilith. She seems calm, though she's no longer smiling, just staring. One hand sits at her side, but the other is in the folds of her own dress. Castiel at once wonders if she's doing something absolutely unthinkable. His already scarlet cheeks burn more and he averts his eyes, back to the ceremony. The boy is whimpering, though it seems taut and stifled. Trying to keep up the angry, stoic image.  
  
  
Castiel thinks to glance back at his Father, and the King and Queen. He doesn't dare. It's too strange, and he dreads to think that someone would know that he isn't able to separate this as something wholly religious. It seems too erotic. Perhaps that befits Padra's blessing. Then the priest is pushing the object back against the slightly gaped hole, though it quickly meets resistance with how large it is. The boy's nervous whimpering becomes pained huffs, as the priest eases in the oily metal shape. One of the other two picks up the bottle and drips more along the length, while the other holds the boy's shoulders down to the marble. It's shoved in, the boy letting out a muffled cry of pain at its widest point, and then it's inside. His body closes around it, but from the sounds he continues to let out, it's a tight fit. Castiel looks up, to where the boy must be looking, at the immense length of the statue's penis, the unwavering width all the way down. It's not enough to prepare him. For the first time, Castiel is afraid for the boy's safety. To his knowledge, the sacrifices always survive this ritual. Well, at least, he's never heard about a death. Then he stops worrying, pulled back to the present by what the priest is doing. Twisting what Castiel thought was just the handle. The object, no, device, is beginning to flare out from the base like petals. Castiel can see the hot darkness within the boy between each of the metal plates that push outwards at his rim, further and further with each twist.  
  
  
The boy, to his credit, doesn't cry for the first few twists. Then, all at once, he's howling, strange sounds that must be gagged begging. His hips start twisting, a renewed attempt at escape, but at once there's another priest pinning him on his other side. The one controlling the torturous device grabs a handful of the boy's hair, leaning close. Even though Castiel is barely feet away, he can't hear the hissed words. They have some effect, though. The boy sags still and just openly cries, as the device is twisted once again. The metal glints as it forces its way outwards inside the boy. All clean, which is unsurprising. An offering to Padra would have been cleaned in advance, insides washed out thoroughly. His hideously open hole looks far too perfect to be abused in such a way. Castiel breathes out a sigh of relief when he realizes it's fully opened. Then he notices the boy's genitals, so far flaccid and tucked away, have fallen off the edge of the table, and there's the start of an erection there. It baffles him for a moment, because the boy is still crying. Then it hits him. Padra. The relief settles in, quelling his clenched guts. The God himself is here. This isn't some sort of sadistic cruelty. It's for the good of their marriage. He bites his lip, tries to will away his own, strange lust. The priest begins to tug the open object, but it seems pretty beyond budging, and from the boy's choked gasp, that hurts more than anything that's been done to him so far. The sound is undeniably one of pain, but it does nothing to help Castiel will away the arousal. It's musical, and stirs Castiel's loins in a way that even beautiful women cannot do. He feels his skin break out into goosebumps as the priest takes some kind of mercy, turning the device enough to reduce the diameter. Then he begins pulling it in earnest. The boy bucks against the straps and against the hands restraining him. To Castiel's relief, he can see the boy's own erection rutting against the marble. Padra must be sparing him some of the pain for him to be able to enjoy this enough for that reaction.  
  
  
It comes out very slowly, with a few more drizzles of oil, the priest pausing every so often. Castiel can't help but wonder what all three look like under the robes. He assumes they're all men, from the height, though one is a little shorter. Are they grimacing, grinning, or completely blank and impartial as the priests at home are? These three don't seem to respond in any way to more of the hurt pleading. Castiel can't imagine how you could hurt someone so callously, but he also doesn't understand how you could hold down that sweaty, freckled back without wanting more. He could never be a priest. Even the boy's bared lips were full and inviting. He does his best to expel errant thoughts as the device finally pulls free. The boy gives a relieved sob. Now his hole is gaping open, unable to close after the huge stretch. He's sagging into the marble, seeming completely defeated. Two of the priests begin to loosen the straps holding him down. At once, the posture changes. Like a striking snake, he lunges out of reach, surprisingly fast despite his still bound hands. His shoulder collides under the chin of the other priest, who tumbles down. Castiel barely has time to react before the boy is turning with hatred and rage in his eyes, taking a purposeful step forward. Just as quickly as he escaped, though, he's restrained by the two still standing priests, grabbing him first, and then forcing him down to the floor as he kicks and flails and howls.  
  
  
Castiel and Lilith both bolt upright, but the priest who was hit is rushing over. "Your highnesses, please be seated. The ritual must continue. ...we all deeply apologize."  
"As you well should," comes a restrained, wrathful drawl.  
Castiel looks back. Lilith's father is standing, tall and terrifying in the red light. King Lucifer is a fair ruler who always pursues justice and punishes his enemies, people say. People also say that he's a cruel and harsh King whose retribution has scared away any attempts on his throne. People only say that when they don't know Castiel is listening. Now, it seems very true. There's a barely disguised sneer of rage on the rugged face.  
"If my daughter had been injured, would we have had to continue the rituals? You incompetent fools. ...and _you_ ," he says, addressing the boy, before he seems to dismiss the need to. "Impale him, now. The preparation will suffice."  
Castiel shivers at the word 'impale', looking over at Lilith. She looks terrified, wide eyed and tiny in her huge dress. He feels a stab of protectiveness, before she sits down, face instantly changing. It's back to the hunger. Maybe even bloodlust. He falls back into the seat with a growing sense of horror. He should say something, or do something. But the ritual must go on, or the whole marriage is off. And their kingdoms needs this marriage, to stop this awful war. This boy-- this man, he tells himself, because it sounds better even inside his head, is a criminal. A violent one, it seems, who is willing to renege on a sacred vow of self-sacrifice. That thought comforts him a fraction, but not enough. The boy is pulled upright, the same tall priest hissing in his ear. This time they're close enough that Castiel hears.  
"Be a good boy, Dean."  
  
  
Dean. Castiel wishes he hadn't learned the name of this wretched creature. He wishes he could look away as the three priests haul him backwards. One climbs the wooden steps on one side of the statue, and the two others carry the boy up. One holds under his chest, the other holding his knees together with one gloved arm. The boy is writhing and kicking again, but the protests are in vain. Dean is hauled up the steps like a huge cut of meat. He'd be a dead weight if he wasn't struggling so hard. There's nothing he can do, though, with his arms bound so tightly behind his back, and his legs pinned so mercilessly. When the priests all stand on the small platforms on either side of the statue's thighs, the red figure on the other side reaches over and grasps one of Dean's ankles, wrenching it over. The red gloves edge higher and higher until two priests are holding his thighs, hoisting him up. Dean's body falls backwards against the muscled marble chest of Padra. The tall priest keeps him there, one hand on the boy's shaking sternum, the other pouring copious amounts of oil over the statue's huge cock, and the drizzling it down the length. The muscular, marble legs are slightly parted, and Castiel sees oil drip down the detailed shaft, dripping down the balls and then down onto a copper collection dish. The level cleanliness is impressive, Castiel thinks for a moment, before the priest has tucked the bottle back into his belt, and pulls Dean forward by the shoulder. At the same time, the two others lower the hoisted legs. It all seems very efficient, very rehearsed, even if there hasn't been a royal marriage here in decades. It's a very old ritual. There's no way to escape the threatening jut of marble beneath his still gaping hole. In the space of second, the boy is plunged onto the head of Padra's immense cock.  
  
  
At once, he is howling, thrashing as much as he can against the marble chest behind him, and the red hands restraining him. He barely sinks two inches down, only taking the very head, but the girth has him hurting already. Castiel can see his teeth nearly imbedded in the gag. He startles with horror, but it's matched by the inexplicable arousal at the hurt sounds the boy is producing. Maybe it's not so inexplicable. The idea of something so immense being forced into the boy's body against his will is as appealing as it is monstrous. Castiel can't help but relish the way, looking up, he can see the flickering muscles in Dean's thighs, the twitch of his ass around the intrusion. It must feel like nothing human. Truly, as if he's being forced onto a God's cock. The boy gives out another muffled yelp of agony as the priests pull his knees wider, and finally drape them on either side of Padra's spread thighs till his feet sit above the wooden platform. On his tiptoes, he can only barely keep himself in place, the the huge, oiled cock wedging its way further into him every time his muscles give. The priests are satisfied, filing away down the steps. Dean twists, whimpering and bawling. Castiel glances over. Lilith's hand is buried back in the folds of her dress, eyes glazes, lips parted with a stuttering breath. His own traitorous erection only swells further as he looks up at the crying boy. The freckled chest is heaving, pink nipples dancing with each panicked breath. To Castiel's surprise, the boy has hardened once more, and his comparatively tiny erection bobs as he teeters upon the cock impaling him. But he's not done yet.  
  
  
One priest walks away. The two remaining meet each others eyes, and then fold down levers on each staircase. With slow, deliberate movements, the heavy structures are pushed backwards. Dean begins to emit frantic whines, shuffling forward, each lapse in balance sinking him down onto the marble. His stretched hole slides relentlessly down the slick, oiled surface. On tiptoes, he dances across the platform until his feet hit nothing, as it drops away into the first step. His body convulses, back arching, and with another agonized scream he's plunged upon the massive cock. The priests stop pushing, and Dean is back on tiptoes, howling through his tears, body twisting and writhing against the statue. Castiel can see his pulse in his neck, and in his still paradoxically hard cock, now leaking precum. Padra. Please spare his suffering, Castiel prays. But it's relentless. The priests move again, despite Dean's pleading tones as he shuffles forward. He trips his way over the step and sinks even further onto the cock. Now, it shows through his taut stomach, the marble intrusion pressing its way into him with mindless, emotionless brutality. The statue's snarl seems more pronounced in the light of the candle. Castiel wishes he was in the God's place, impaling the writhing boy slowly. And there's still inches more to go. Another few seconds for the boy to prepare himself, if such a thing was impossible, and the stairs are wheeled back again. This time Dean's sound is so mindless and primitive it could almost be mistaken for pleasure, if it weren't for the freely falling tears. Castiel almost reaches into his own clothing to relish the ecstasy of the moment, but even with the huge coat, there's simply no way to disguise that. Even though he feels he's sweating through the wool, he's glad that it hides how much pleasure this horrific sight brings him. Then they're pushing the stairs back again. This time, Dean's feet don't hit anything. He plunges all the way down until his ass is flush against the carved base, flexing thighs against Padra's unforgiving marble. He keens with sensation, back arching with the slight angle of the behemoth within him. There he dangles, finally the impaled, helpless sacrifice.  
  
  
As he cries out into the gag, chest heaving, Castiel admires the unmistakeable show of the cock buried in his ass. His stomach is enormously distended, each inch of marble pressed into the skin of his navel. The shallow belly button is now jutting out as the marble head presses against it from within. His body is stretched unthinkably. Who knows what becomes of him after this? A recovery from this may not even be possible. And in spite of how awful that thought is, it's exhilarating to imagine this body being ruined for him, for his benefit. Maybe he can take this boy on as a servant, if he's still somewhat functional. He has certainly made a dramatic sacrifice for the crown. And besides, it's hard to imagine any attitude problems not being forced out of him during this ceremony. The other priest returns, this time chaining Dean's ankles together beneath the statue, and then leaning up. The second device he produces looks far crueler. First, a band is pulled around Dean's balls, and then it is locked into a tight cage around his still half-erect cock, forcing it into an unnatural straightness. Lastly, a thick metal rod is pushed into the boy's slit, earning some weak begging sounds, and a spent, hurt scream into the gag. That is locked in place too. One of the stairs is wheeled about, and the tall priest slowly affixes two nasty, chained clamps to the pink nipples, working them just enough to have them fully erect to capture the most flesh between the biting metal jaws. The priest tugs the connecting chain, perhaps to check they are secured, perhaps for the beautiful moan of despairing suffering from Dean. They are linked to the tight restraint around the boy's cock, tugging it upright, before he steps down and pushes the staircase away so that the royals may admire the sacrifice in their name. The boy looks down, finally, at the two watching him so raptly, squirms as if to try and hide himself. It only succeeds in pressing the huge cock against his tender insides, and he whimpers and squeezes his eyes shut. His head falls back, swelling chest pushed out and then sucked back in as he tries to stop the tears leaking between his eyelids. His sweaty hair falls against Padra's chest, leaning into the statue as if seeking comfort, entire body trembling and pliant. And with no word to dismiss them, the three priests leave. There's the scraping of benches behind, and Lilith stands too. She hesitates, then reaches out to take his hand as they turn. Her fingers are wet.  
  
Castiel doesn't dare look back, but he can't help stammering out a question about the duration of the ceremony when he rejoins the reigning monarchs.  
"Oh, yes, he stays there till your wedding night is over," his future father-in-law says, evaluating Castiel's features for doubt. His mother-in-law smiles with a hunger, hand tight on her husband's arm, clearly eager to get back to their own rooms.  
Castiel's father's face is drawn and he refuses to meet his sons eyes as they step away. Castiel lingers, and watches the different postures as the Kings and Queen begin to walk away, awkward conversation resuming.  
Now Lilith leans close, whispering in his ear as they begin on the staircase. Her voice is cold, and very fun. "I have a key. Meet me down here tonight, husband. I don't think you and I are done with him."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Commenters seemed to agree I needed another chapter. Hope they enjoy.

Castiel finishes the rest of the evening in a trance, bothered by the commitments he must bow to. All he wants is to close his eyes and allow himself to bathe in the memories. The trepidation of the squirming boy as he was carried up to Padra's altar. The strange, shocked sounds as he was filled beyond imagination. The complete despair in his posture as they left him to hang upon the behemoth. Even with his eyes open, the recollections press to the front of his mind. He is useless in the diplomatic dinner, stuttering his way through routine conversations. He wishes he'd been allowed time to himself to at least take care of this distraction, but no. It had been servants removing the formal ceremonial attire, rushing him into another suit, and even after the dinner it's the same. The layers of wool and cotton are peeled off his body, unlaced and unbuttoned. He stares at himself in the large mirror. He thinks he looks much less silly in just his underclothes. All these suits and coats and collars are draining the life from him. He should be thinking about his wedding tomorrow, but all he's doing is thinking about Lilith's whispered parting words. Tonight. Why hadn't she given him a time? He feels a momentary flair of frustration, but the relief of finally being alone without strange servants calms him as he hears the doors finally shut. He walks over to the small drink tray in his attached sitting room, examining the bottles he hasn't touched yet. Wanted to give a good impression. Now, there's no question about the wedding going ahead. He pours himself a very large brandy, drinking it slowly. It coats his tongue and there's a warm, gentle burn in his throat when he swallows. He closes his eyes, picturing Dean again, this time the flushed, stretched skin of his belly. He imagines cupping it, feeling the unrelenting marble inside. How the boy would screw his eyes shut with shame, tears dribbling down his cheeks, tiny hurt noises escaping the clenched, proud lips.  He imagines all the ways he could produce more of those sounds.  
  
  
He jerks back to reality when he feels a wet droplet on his bare toes. He's spilling his drink. He drains it all, sets aside the glass and sags back onto his huge bed, running one hand over the silk sheet, the other unbuttoning his fly. There he stops. As unrelenting as his arousal is, the satisfaction now would be nothing at all compared to the pleasure that Lilith seemed to suggest. He lets out a tiny groan of desperation, and then pulls himself up, hurrying to find a coat in the large wardrobe. He pulls on boots, next. It's certainly not appropriate attire, but it seems irrelevant. What he's doing, traipsing off in the middle of the night to meet his soon-to-be-wife, is certainly inappropriate. Worse, meeting her with the intention of deriving perverse sexual pleasure from a religious sacrifice. He shivers with trepidation as he realizes how much damage could be done, but he simply cannot stop himself. The lust controls him completely. He finds himself descending the staircase of the dark palace, ducking through a few quiet corridors. He pauses once when he hears servants' chatter, pressing against a wall, but they pass straight by the entrance to the hallway he's in. The rest of the way is quiet. Eventually he reaches the dark red door. His heart pounds in his ears, unable to keep his breathing even. This is his chance to turn around before he does something unthinkable. But the buzz of alcohol, and the thought of how close the impaled boy is make it impossible to be rational. He tries the door handle. It's unlocked, and the dark on the other side invites him in.  
  
  
There are no lights inside, so he takes a candelabra one from the outer corridor, shutting the huge door as softly as he can behind him. He cautiously descends the staircase down to the ceremonial room, but is stopped by another door. It takes another minute of wondering what to do before he very quietly calls through the door. He'll pretend to be sleepwalking, if it's a priest, he reassures himself. His voice sounds timid to his own ears.  
"Lilith?"  
And the door is pulled in just enough for him to see her wicked smile. She stands blocking his way, in a simple and hardly opaque white slip, so vastly inappropriate and yet regal. Like a wedding dress. Suddenly his throat is dry and his head is spinning, but she reaches for his coat lapel and tugs him in. She leads easily, pulling him into the chamber, now darker without every candle lit.  
"Look at him," she all but commands.  
Castiel tears his eyes away from the shape of her barely concealed breasts, and the shadow of her pubic hair. Now he looks past her, up to the white statue, though his eyes barely rest upon it for a moment before centering in on the boy. The hours since have not been easy on him, by the looks of it. His arms have been unfastened from his back, and pulled back behind him and around the neck of Padra, where they must be bound together to cement the twisted embrace. The sprawl makes him look even more vulnerable. The new position has done an artful job of stretching out his torso, so the chain on his nipples is pulled tight, and the muscles beneath delicately show on his chest. Like he himself is a carved statue, fine art. But he is no impervious statue. Lilith takes the candelabra and walks closer, and the red blinking eyes reveal movement, the steady inhalation and exhalation of a man managing a great deal of pain.  
  
  
His lashes are clumped, though his stare has lost all of the venom and fight it had earlier. Inside his belly, the marble cock seems to have driven deeper, if anything, the outline fighting against his abdominal muscles to make its presence clear. Castiel's mouth falls open, erection strengthening again, as he meets the hurt, despairing gaze. The guilt resumes too. Dean makes a weak sound of a plea behind the gag stretching his lips-- it's changed now, a cruel circular device that holds his lips apart around a coppery ring. They must feed him something, Castiel assumes. Maybe practical, but it looks far more perverse than the bar between his teeth.  
"Isn't he beautiful?" Lilith whispers, stepping closer. She hesitates to touch, but then reaches up to cup one of the lightly freckled calves. Dean tries to jerk away to no avail. He has sunk down far enough that his hips are widely spread, and his legs are securely fastened by the ankle.  
Castiel can't even reply. He's gripped with the urge to touch him, too, steps closer and closer. Unlike Lilith, he steps between Padra's legs, doesn't touch the contraption on the boy's red and inflamed cock. His hand rises higher, nudging the chain with a knuckle, and then gently tugging it so that it pulls the clamps down, and jerks his bound genitals. The boy tenses, but he must be too proud to whine. Castiel knows that won't last. He drops the chain, and instead, still reaching up, splays his fingers over the boy's twitching abdomen and relishes the bulge of unrelenting stone within. It's better than his fantasy. He forgot how warm the vulnerable body would be. Now Dean jerks away in earnest, only succeeding in forcing himself onto the huge member. This time, he does whimper.  
"Silly boy. You know who you belong to now," Lilith whispers just behind Castiel.  
He is so entranced by Dean that it startles him a little, but he nods in agreement. Then he feels her thin fingers opening his coat, tugging it away. Lightly, she dips beneath the hem of his white undershirt. Her hand massages the muscles of his stomach, feeling the flatness perhaps in contrast.  
  
  
Cas' fingers tighten again on the boy's skin, who this time doesn't move, though he is glaring down now, almost imperiously. Lilith's breath tickles the back of his neck, and Castiel turns and leans down. With no regard for marital norms of conduct, he grabs the back of her neck, tugging her off balance and into a deep and unrelenting kiss. Not his first, though he doesn't know about _her_ past. The point of this ceremony is that they both have no sexual history, not any more. After a surprised, sharp intake she returns the kiss, biting his lower lip, grabbing his hips to pull him in closer.  
"He's still making his sacrifice for us," she breathes. "Whatever we do now, Padra will forgive, after we gave him that pretty boy to warm his cock."  
Castiel almost growls at the words, grabbing her waist, walking her back towards the marble altar where they stretched Dean out in preparation. He lifts her up with almost no effort, and presses her down, considering the leather restraints still available.  
"Wait," Lilith whispers.  
For a moment, Castiel thinks she's having second doubts about the propriety of this act. But one glance into her dark eyes, the concern disappears. They are alight, even in the darkness.  
"I want this to be perfect. I want him to be writhing and screaming when I feel your cock inside me."  
Castiel can't keep himself from grinding against her parted thighs. "How?" he softly demands, voice low enough to be almost incomprehensible.  
Lilith's lips curl into something too malicious to be a smile. "Let me up, please," she whispers.  
Castiel considers it for only a moment before, with a huff of frustration, he gently sets her upright again. His need has built for so long, but the act she promises is too erotic to pass up.  
"Wheel that staircase closer, please," she says, voice strangely high and playful. She's busy in the pockets of her own abandoned coat, doesn't even look up to make sure he is doing as instructed.  
  
  
Castiel spends a few seconds struggling to unlock the braking system, but then he pulls the wooden structure closer and slides it into the same place. Dean's legs are now bound together at the ankle, so he has no chance of leaning on the supports to ease his pain.  
"Back a bit," Lilith commands, tugging the other over. She is surprisingly strong for such a small woman, Castiel thinks. Perhaps, like him, she is driven by lust and adrenaline. Lilith locks hers in place further forward, climbing up, and then beckons him over. He rounds the statue, unsure of why his side was needed. It's pleasant, though, to be up even closer, to be able to reach out and tug at the tormenting clamps. Lilith shows him the small bottle in her hand, uncapping the cork and holding it up for him to smell. A strange, peppery, hot aroma fills his lungs. He coughs, very slightly, leaning back. She very carefully sets the cork aside, and then presses a small brush into the bottle. The liquid is thick, and viscous, clinging to the brush as she pulls it out. The green eyes ringed with angry red are now closely following her actions.  
"Take that clamp off."  
Castiel's fingers tremble as he does. Dean's nipple is bright pink except for the purpled bruises of where the claws have bit into his skin, a few different spots. Obviously the priests who care for him shift them around enough to avoid permanent damage. The boy moans in pain at the returned circulation, particularly pathetic through the gag holding his mouth so wide. Castiel leans close to his face, admiring the features so much more contorted with pain. He's close enough to kiss him, as if he would ever debase himself doing that. Lilith is holding the brush like an artist, runs it first over the very point of the nipple, and then in gentle circles around the pink and purple areola. Castiel is close enough to admire the freckled shoulders, and the elegant stretch of his neck as he squirms.  
"Next one," she tells Castiel, leaning over. "...don't worry. It's nothing permanent," she adds, though this is is against the shell of Dean's ear. Castiel bites his lip at how much the flash of fear in the green eyes turns him on.  
  
  
Castiel opens the clamp and then, trying to hold steady, captures the swollen nub between the crushing metal, earning a whine of pain. He reaches over, pulling the next one off, and holds Lilith steady as she leans down to brush the liquid over the other nipple. Dean shifts, swallowing down the sounds he must be longing to let out. A flush rises to his pale cheeks, squirming at how easily his nipples harden.  
"I always thought Padra would prefer girls, but this one is sensitive and pretty enough that it shouldn't matter, hm?" Lilith whispers as Castiel returns the clamp, then tugs the chain. "Okay, down we go. You're going to have to do the next part, I'm not tall enough."  
She climbs down, and Castiel follows, taking the bottle and the paintbrush. Without a word of warning, he knows not to spill the concoction on his own skin. Lilith leads him around to the boy's imprisoned cock.  
"All over. And take the sound out, and lather that too."  
Castiel didn't know what that metal imbedded within him was called, but it's obvious what she refers to. For the first time, he realizes how much pain he is about to cause this wretched being. But Lilith's hands are on his hips in encouragement, and besides, this room is nothing short of soundproof. And the boy isn't gagged enough to restrain his cries this time. Castiel longs to hear just how loud he'll get. He starts on the boy's balls, and works up the half-swollen, cruelly fastened length. He dips the brush again before he runs it around the head, and the underside, watching Dean flush and squirm as the organ seems to swell more. Lilith chuckles softly, egging her fiance on.  
  
  
It takes Castiel a moment to figure out how to unlock the sound enough to pull out, handing the bottle of oil off to Lilith as he works it, but then it slides out. Dean releases an almost orgasmic gasp of relief. His pleasure sounds as good as his pain. Castiel will have to find some way of pairing them, one day. Satisfied with the coating, he presses the large, blunt rod against the stretched hole. It slides in easily enough, body already trained to take something so painful. Must be removed regularly to take care of the boy's physical necessities. Nevertheless, the return to its home deep inside the boy's cock causes Dean to whimper with pain and flinch as much as he can. Castiel locks it in place again, and then Lilith is tilting his chin up.  
"Look."  
He doesn't at first know what he's looking at. Then he sees it. The gentle oscillation as Dean arches his back, pulling the chain connecting his nipples, and his cock tight. It must hurt, with how the clamps are suddenly stretching the flushed skin, but he does it again. And again. He's shivering, and finally emits a hurt, upset whine. Then he's bucking again, showing off Padra's cock through the skin of his belly every time he arches further.  
"Hurts and itches like nothing you've ever felt," Lilith whispers in Castiel's ear, before she kisses his neck.  
Castiel feels goosebumps breaking out all over his back at the knowledge he will get to fuck Lilith to this heavenly sight. Dean's sobbing weakly as he continues the jerking, provocative movement in an attempt to ease the burn.  
"Okay, hurry. Only lasts for an hour or so."  
Castiel is surprised to hear that they aren't done yet, but Lilith is stepping around, unlatching the staircase she moved and pushing it back in line to Castiel, securing the wheels once more. She pushes Castiel back from where he's still standing slack-jawed, moving almost frantically between Dean's legs.  
"Wait--" he starts to warn, as she unlocks the chain connecting his ankles. But the boy is too weak, too defeated and hurt to do anything but hang hopelessly. Lilith smiles up at Castiel.  
"Give him a hand, would you?" she says, taking one of the ankles, raising it, guiding it to the low step.  
  
  
Castiel steps over, and does the same. Dean's legs shake, but he takes the provided opportunity to raise himself off the monster imbedded inside him, though he's only provided a few mere inches of relief. Lilith hurries around, ignoring the paintbrush to liberally drizzle the rest of the oil across the bottom few inches of the carved cock, and then runs the wet lips off the bottle around Dean's asshole. The flesh is red and abused, puffy and twitching as she finishes coating it. Dean seems to realize now what is being done to him, crying out and trying to squirm away. Of course, he can't avoid it. Lilith drops the spent bottle and steps back to Castiel's side. They stand side by side, holding hands, trembling and dizzy with sadistic glee. Dean is begging in earnest, though his tongue is depressed by the gag, and it comes out as one, long, choked whine. He is bucking his lips, though there's nothing he can do to scratch the insistent, growing itch within his inflamed cock. The clamps bite further in the skin as he twists and writhes, muscles showing in his shoulders as he does anything he can think of to try to get away from the onslaught of hot pain. He's pouring with sweat, short hair damp and plastered down, weeping brokenly between the cries of sheer sensation. But there's still one irritation worse than everything else. The amount of the burning, itching liquid on his asshole is obviously driving him insane. His hips keep bucking, dropping just a fraction, which only spreads more of the liquid over his stretched hole and up into the sensitive insides. He surrenders to the point of Lilith's positioning. His shaking legs unflex, lowering him down inch by inch onto the length of marble, pressing it deeper against his insides, in an attempt to stop the horrible itch. It doesn't seem to help much, based on the wail of dismay, and he rises up again, smearing even more of the irritant up into his abused ass. It only takes a few more seconds of sensation before he sinks his way down the behemoth again, fucking himself on the gigantic, painful object, as he's arching his back to tug his own clamped nipples and his bound cock.  
  
  
Castiel watches, transfixed. His fiance must be a genius. He reaches around her waist, a lot more softly, but she takes more control this time. "Sit down," she whispers. He stumbles back, unable to tear his eyes from Dean, and she pushes him back further onto the marble altar, pushes his legs a little apart in a repetition of Padra's regal stance. Then, she climbs up after him. Not exactly as Dean, for her knees are folded beneath her on either side, still in the delicate white slip. She leans back to one side, so that Castiel and her both have an unobstructed view of Dean's little body as it bounces on the statue's cock like an obedient whore. If it weren't for the wailing, and the still flowing tears, Castiel would swear that the boy was trying to satisfy Padra as swiftly as possible. The thought turns him on, as he edges his underclothes off his hipbones, pulls free his aching cock. Lilith sinks down onto him, very slowly and cautiously. There's the soft brush of wet pubic hair, and then her own fingers, parting her lips. Her insides are delectably warm and plush. The pressure and the wetness have him growling at once, trying to force up further into that perfect space.  
"Shh-shh-- slowly," she whispers, though her own voice is ruined with pleasure. She sinks further onto his length. "Oh, Cas, you're too big. I'm going to be as ruined as he is," she whimpers.  
He's sure it's not true, but it only adds to his fervor of arousal. He presses a biting kiss into the back of her ribs, eyes remaining on Dean every second. Eventually, she's pressing the curve of her still clothed ass into his hipbones. There, they hesitate, panting in tandem as Dean's frantic grinding reaches a fever pitch. He is howling with a combination of pain, but also relief every time his skin drags against the marble length. There's a wet sound of slapping suction each time Dean embeds it further into his body, showing oh-so-clearly through his heaving body. Castiel feels his carnal need has reached a crescendo. Castiel's hands incircle Lilith's little waist, pulling her up and pushing her down onto him again. He finds himself, once again, picturing Dean impaled upon his cock, writhing and begging and drooling mindlessly.  
"If he can take that, you can take me," he growls, almost nonsensical, but it makes her gasp, pushing up through her knees to meet his pace. She takes one of his hands, guiding it down between her legs. His nails rake lightly through the pubic hair and then he presses the pad of his index finger against her swollen clitoris, begging for attention. Her insides clamp down on him, and they're suddenly both shuddering and moving nearly as frantically as Dean is. Both sets of eyes stay on the boy as their pace picks up, Castiel rubbing not-so-gentle circles into her sensitive nub, Lilith arching her back, cries almost as loud as Dean's as she finishes. Castiel continues rubbing, listening to the small, hypersensitive notes in her voice as he buries himself deeper inside her, again, and again, and then lets out a groan of unparalleled pleasure as his eyes finally close.  
  
  
He slumps back, as does she, his warm cock still inside her, legs splayed. They don't need to look at the boy any more, but both glow with pleasure amidst his echoing cries and the wet sound of the boy fucking himself relentlessly onto the God's cock. 


End file.
